


you never know what you have until it's gone

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [149]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: A happy ending?, M/M, from me?, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Hermann never thought he'd miss snipping at (with) Newt.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [149]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Kudos: 24





	you never know what you have until it's gone

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "I was reading this book that made me think of this prompt. This kid found out his mom had been possessed for awhile before disappearing. The dad didn't know and was reminiscing about this exact thing but he thought it was good and the kid's horrified because he understands why. So. As the precursors start taking control of Newt, he and Hermann stop fighting because until the precursors can separate Newt and Hermann they don’t want to bother with domestic disputes and bickering."

“The shelves were a mess yesterday,” Hermann says.

It’s an innocuous statement; said in an even tone, unsurprised— _Newton_ , often, is a mess, in the physical sense and emotional sense both, and it carries over into his life. Hermann doesn’t mind it, much, has grown accustomed to it, but he cannot _stand_ to have his own books turned sideways and haphazard after Newton riffles through the shelf looking for something.

He waits; for the rebuttal, for the growing of a small thing into a near-screaming match, or, more likely, barbed, irritated words; braces himself for it. They work best like that, after all—push and push and _push_ and sometimes pull, when it suits; mismatched in perfection.

Instead, there’s nothing. “I’ll clean it up,” Newton says, without glancing up from the paper he’s doodling on, and when Hermann makes a startled sound, adds, “’s my mess, I’ll get it, _Herms_.”

That, at least, is familiar; and Hermann snaps, “Don’t _call_ me that,” and Newton finally raises his head and grins at him and the feeling of wrong-footedness that was there evaporates like mist under the summer sun as they fall back into familiarity.

“You can’t stop me,” Newton says, and clicks his pen; one-two, in a rapid-fire sound. “ _Hermykins_.”

Hermann scowls and snatches the pen from him. “This,” he says, striding over to set it in the cup on his own desk, “is _mine_.”

“Mmmhm,” says Newton.

And it’s back; the off-kilteredness; and Hermann is left confused and, frankly, uncertain of how to act. In the end, he simply chalks it up to Newton being more agreeable since his experiments are progressing well and providing results.

Over time, it happens more and more; this agreeableness. At first, it throws Hermann off—he’s more used to arguing; to butting heads, in work, in life, in, God, in _love_ ; but perhaps that’s it; that Newton has become comfortable around, _with_ , Hermann, in the past decade. 

So he falls into it as well; gently, cautiously at first, and then with more ease until it’s all he knows it to be. 

And yet…he feels, somehow, _dissatisfied_ ; like he’s losing bits of Newton—ridiculous, he knows, of course; the man’s right there with him at least half the time, within arm’s reach, and yet…

He feels like he doesn’t _know_ him; especially when the days Newton spends in the lab, alone, drag on longer and longer until, sometimes, Hermann will only see him a few hours a week.

Newton’s working on something important—that’s what he tells himself; Newton’s still an attentive lover, still smiles at him and curls against him in bed at night, still does the little things for him, like getting him scones from that one bakery he knows Hermnan loves but would never say he does, and bringing in a tea for Hermann along with his own coffee. Those things just…happen less often now.

He tells Karla about it, once; over a video-call, and she frowns at him. “Weren’t you always arguing?” 

Hermann shrugs. “Newton’s _changed_ ,” he says, “and, frankly, in some ways, for the better. I love him, of course I do, but it’s…it’s _easier_ like this, without him trying to pursue everything into a bloody _fight_.” He laughs a bit at that; the irony is that Newton’s never been good at fighting but with his words—in that, he’s always hit home.

It becomes commonplace, though, and like all commonplace things, after a while, it becomes normal.

* * *

It’s a clean break.

Newton’s x-ray, that is. It shows that it’s clean break. The Precursors did it yesterday with the last of the control they had—Hermann’s not sure _why_ ; why this; why a broken arm instead of, what? He doesn’t know. 

Maybe they just wanted to assert some control; Hermann would understand that. They’d grown weak and weaker and then, finally, at the end, _knew_ they would be gone soon.

Newton’s not stopped picking at the cast since they put it on.

“Will you _not?_ ” Hermann snaps, glaring at the threads Newton’s managed to pull out; the strands trailing off of the cast.

He doesn’t expect—well, anything, really, but certainly not an _answer;_ and not for Newton to scowl at him and say, “Oh, fuck off, Hermann, it’s not _your_ arm that’s broken.”

Hermann stops; freezing, nearly, for a moment, and then says, “No, but I have to make sure you don’t _aggravate it_ , you horrid little man.”

“I’m _five-foot-seven!_ ” Newton near-shrieks at him, and that—

Hermann gasps a laugh; the sound wrenched from him, startlingly, surprising them both; and he stares at Newton, wide-eyed, and does it again, until he’s nearly doubled over with peals of it.

Newton makes an uncertain sound. “Hermann?” he asks, “are you okay—?”

“F—fine,” Hermann chokes, finally, and blinks away the tears that have begun to sting at the corners of his eyes. “I—God, it’s just, just _good_ , to hear you…” he trails off.

Newton stares at him, uncomprehending.

“I haven’t argued with you in years, Newton,” Hermann says, gently, “I…I hadn’t realised how much I had missed it.”

“You missed…bickering with me?” Newton raises a brow.

“Yes,” Hermann says, smiling widely, _ridiculously_ , “yes I did. Now please, _please_ stop picking at that.”

Newton scowls at him again. “Shut up,” he says, but he does, and Hermann can see his ears have gone a bit red, and his other hand finds Hermann’s and squeezes it; his skin warm against Hermann’s. “You’re weird,” he says, after a beat; and then, softly: “Don’t stop it.”

Hermann’s chest grows warm. “I couldn’t if I tried,” he replies.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
